


Family

by Jentrevellan



Series: Lyla Lavellan [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen Fluff, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Inner Dialogue, Mabari, Post-Trespasser, easy to read, for fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:32:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8433649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jentrevellan/pseuds/Jentrevellan
Summary: Cullen spends some time with his Mabari companion and reflects on life since the Inquisition disbanded.





	

The hills are rolling and green, bright in his eyes against the brilliant sun. Sweat trickles down his back as he walks, despite the thin summer tunic and breeches. With a wry smile, he remembers that nothing will  _ever_  be as hot as the Western Approach. Back then, now over four years ago, he had donned thick and heavy armour and the sand - well let’s just say he found sand in places he didn’t know he had for weeks afterwards. All of that seems so long ago - back when every day was an anxious waiting game. It’s so distant now and it fades with time, like a dream in the Fade.

Cullen walks the now familiar footpaths through the Hinterlands. It’s a quiet morning and he’s only passed one or two other travellers who nod a greeting, not knowing who he is. It sets him at ease, walking casually, hand not even tempted to rest on the pommel of the short-sword on his belt. He can’t remember the last time he used his sword other than to spar and practice with - he keeps up his training (helps distract from the occasional headaches) but other than that, his sword stays sheathed in the scabbard.

And he doesn’t mind that. It’s a relief to not always be leaning on it. He used to grip the hilt to keep his hands steady. Curiously, as he walks, he spreads his hands in front of him, noting the calloused skin from the good and honest farm work. But they do not shake anymore.

A playful bark brings his attention back to the path he walks. As always, his faithful companion Dusty is by his side, keeping in perfect step with him. The grey Mabari looks up at him hopefully, large eyes round and playful. Cullen leans down and picks up a stick, twirling it in his fingers.

“You want it, boy?” he says.

Dusty barks once in reply, tail wagging so hard, it slaps continuously against the back of Cullen’s leg. Cullen leans back and throws the stick far along the path, Dusty galloping after it, head held high and tongue flapping. He smothers a chuckle as Dusty returns, clearly proud of retrieving the stick and presents it to Cullen, who promptly throws it again - it’s a routine that keeps Dusty entertained and Cullen distracted until they arrive at the Crossroads.

Market stalls and trader’s caravans bustle for space, shouting offers to potential customers who weave in and out of one another, clutching baskets or carrying children. There are dwarven tradesmen and women selling crafts from Orzammar. Elven families smiling and laughing, children running around their legs. The little village has grown since the mage and Templar conflict. Now there are no Inquisition scouts in sight, no scorch marks of magic and no refugees. Instead, it’s a busy trading centre - a hub of the Hinterlands. Cullen pauses by a stall full of fresh food and carefully selects a warm bread roll, a cut of meat and some fruit. He hands over some silver to the owner, whose eyes widen at Cullen’s overspending. He turns to leave, waving a hand to brush away the thanks from the merchant and pauses.

There’s an old banner flying in the centre of the Crossroads and Cullen smiles fondly at the flag which reads ‘ _Under the protection of the Inquisition_.’ He walks towards it, Dusty peering up at him, head cocked.

“Not sure why this is still here,” he mutters to himself, leaning against the low wall. It’s strange seeing the Inquisition mark on a banner when he’s not seen it for years now. He muses on the banner whilst nibbling his on his bread and meat. A small whimper at his feet pulls him out of his thoughts.

Dusty lies on the ground, head in paws, looking up at him with round, mournful eyes. Cullen stops chewing and rips off a piece of meat. The mabari instantly sits up, tail wagging, face hopeful.

“You want some?” A small bark in response makes him grin. He leans down where Dusty gobbles up the meat from his hands, licking his fingers. “Make sure you don’t tell your mum,” he chuckles. Dusty barks in return, jumps up at Cullen, paws on his shoulders and licks his face, making him laugh, almost knocking him over if it hadn’t been for the low wall.

“I saw that you know,” a light voice from behind says.

Cullen turns in surprise, blinded by the sun. Sat astride a white mare is Lyla Lavellan - no Lyla _Rutherford_ \- smiling from ear to ear, holding the reigns comfortably despite the lack of her left hand. To many, she’s been known as the Blessed Herald of Andraste or the Inquisitor, but not to him, not anymore: she’s just his love; his  _wife_. She dismounts, flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulders and stands before him. Dusty jumps up and barks at her, resting his paws on her shoulders as she throws her head back, laughing in delight. His pink tongue slobbers all over her cheeks and Cullen’s chest swells with happiness.

“Come now, boy - don’t keep her all to yourself,” he reprimands with a smile. Dusty obliges and instead circles around the couple, ignoring the curious by-passers.

Cullen immediately takes her in his arms, remembering her scent, feeling her hair brush his chin. He’s reluctant to let go, running his hands up and down her back until she laughs again, tickled through her travel leathers. She plants a gentle kiss on his cheek, but recoils.

“You taste of dog,” she chuckles, scrunching up her nose.

He pecks her cheek. “So do you,” he grins as Dusty barks, still circling them, tail wagging. “I was expecting to meet you at Redcliffe,” he says, pulling away only a little so he can look down at her properly, casually checking for any signs of injury from her journey. An old and natural reflex from when she was the Inquisitor and he the Commander.

“There was a good wind so the ship was early,” Lyla shrugs.

“And your journey? All ok? No dragon-slaying?”

“No dragon-slaying,” she nods. “Although, Bull and The Chargers were disappointed to hear I won’t be doing any journeying with them or Sera anytime soon…”

Cullen frowns. “Why’s that?”

Lyla avoids his gaze, but a smile teases her lips. “Oh… I don’t know. I just think we might be a  _little_  preoccupied and have our, ah, hands full…” she trails off, watching his face closely.

His mind is blank as he struggles to take in her words. “What are you…wait…” his eyes widen.

She takes his hands in her own, entwining their fingers. Her face flushes before saying the words that will change their lives forever. “There’s going to be a  _little_ addition to the Rutherford clan…”

Dusty barks excitedly as Cullen pulls his wife into a crushing hug, burying his head in the crook of her neck, hiding the tears of joy. Here, he thinks that happiness like this would never have been possible for him: he doesn’t deserve it, after the life he’s led. But he holds his wife tight, ignoring all around him, save for his growing family. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This chapter was SUPER fluffy. Comments and Kudos are adored, thank you! ^^


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